


Confluence

by CaptainXcamino



Category: General Hux - Fandom, Poe Dameron - Fandom, Star Wars, gingerpilot - Fandom
Genre: Canto Bight, Confluence, M/M, The Force Awakens, The Last Jedi - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-04-21 14:21:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14286807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainXcamino/pseuds/CaptainXcamino
Summary: “What happens in Canto Bight”A young and naive Defense Fleet Pilot’s undesired trip to the casino planet sets in motion a decision that will change the course of his fate.All in the name of his love for a beautiful Arkanian refugee with a taste for feminine attire.The love before the rise. Before the war.Before the fall.





	1. What Happens In Canto Bight

Before they knew it, the screeching of loose pipes, frigid metal scented air, and glitching holographic monitors were replaced by an overdue journeys end. A familiar planet coming into view after a week long trek across the galaxy, and the promise of well deserved relaxation awaiting in the clustered constellation of decadence below. A fragrant facade of elegance and charm that stuck out like a blemish against the desert planet’s surface, greeting the transport full of eager New Republic Flyboys as their clunky craft less than gently kissed the sands.

“Finally.”

The frustrated pilots hurriedly unbuckled their constraints and fled from the ship. Shaking their unsettled hair and adjusting their ill-fitted attire upon touchdown. One particular sandy haired pilot, who had manned the controls for the last leg of their long journey, silently praying that no one had noticed the bumpy arrival. 

"I could use a drink!" 

The boisterous Squadron erupted into laughter, a snide older wingman shoving the source of the exclamation, “By the looks of that landing, you’ve already had enough.”

The blond just muttering a colorful rebuttal while making his way along the isolated beach flush faced. The entire crew quickly following suit and clearing the stretch of sand that led to lamplit cobblestone. Old world style streets that would normally be looked down upon as lazy craftsmanship had it been any other dirt ball, were more than glamorous on the casino planet. One of the many petty things they boasted about whenever the need arise to cover up the sinful pleasures of one of their best patrons, or buy favor from whatever galactic power was at the top of the food chain that given week. Where there was stone walkways, there was drunken romps buried in their shadows. When a crystal chandelier was hanging majestically, there were molecule wide daggers being dug into the flesh of an non paying barfly. While tourists enjoyed the smell of almost extinct flowers, there was a man made bot clearing out the brush for another unnecessary nightclub or string of condos. Things that would normally go unnoticed for the sake of a good time, but a blaring alarm that could not be ignored for a man questioning his own place in a less than spotless regime.

"This is your kinda place, ain’t it Dameron?"

The moon dweller was snapped from his thoughts to realize they’d made it into the main casino. The source of the question swiping a glass of cheap champagne from a roaming service droid as he looked back at the shorter male in jest. Quickly downing the bitter liquid and handing it off to a yet another passing bot. Poe ignoring what the obvious victory kid’s comment implied by mentioning that he would know. His eyes wandering in search of an open bar he had been eager to find since they’d arrived. 

"I’m just sayin’," the now discontented youngster slurred, “Maybe even your kind can catch some tailwind in a place like this.”

“You shouldn’t say such things about your mother.”

Slender legs nearly buckled from the rapid lunge, the more compact fighter ducking a sloppy swinging before the eldest member of the Squad could place himself between them. An obvious rage building beneath ivory tresses as he implored both men to walk it off. Dameron managing to keep his composure despite his junior still mouthing off. The tan male scanning the room for anywhere else to go. High rollers, alcoholics, self-indulgent slugs, and smugglers impairing his view of the casino floor. 

"Kriff."

Being small in stature may have been an advantage for long hours in a narrow cockpit, but it unfortunately wasn’t good for much else. Especially when dealing with unreasonably entitled life forms who believe the world should be laid out for them. The filth the planet was famous for that got off stepping over the backs of those less fortunate than them to snag a piece of the overbearingly luxurious pie. Though, even the jaded pilot had to admit that there was a raw, uncontaminated passion the city oozed that couldn't be spoiled that he hoped, even if just for a little while, would intoxicate him too.

His ‘undying’ love for the New Republic had all but burnt out. A cause he’d once believed was the key to his dreams and aspersions that he’d joined to follow in his mother’s footsteps, had crashed and burned like and Imperial TIE. With all the slave traders, crooked dealers, con artists, war criminals, and two faced naval officers around him, he found it hard to imagine Shara Bey ever flying for such a corrupt institution. One whose members were paid in free drinks and stay for their silence about what really goes on behind closed doors and in hotel rooms. The long nights of trading with imperial sympathizers, buying drinks for warlords while taking a naked dip in their private pools built on the bones of their planet’s people, courting the sons of the Empire to earn favor in the coming war, and flushing their growing army that sought to enslave the Galaxy once again. The idea of which turning in his stomach as he pushed through the crowd in some direction he assumed was west.

 

A careless elbow knocked into what felt like a deflated life support vest. The high pitched shriek that followed causing the clumsy pilot to assess that it was, in fact, not. Poe turning to see what he assumed was a very disgusted lady cursing him in her native tongue. A large, burgundy stain now expanding on the front of her dress. The Flyboy only able to respond with a sheepish grin before quickly turning on his heel. 

An action that this time nearly made him collide with what appeared to be some sort of bridal party enjoying their post vows. A quick glance being given to the newly weds, who both appeared to be females of their species. A sight that made the young outlander smile. They were a cute couple, too. Nuzzling and cooing at each other in wedded bliss. It was a beautiful thing to behold. After all, there were still a great many places in the Galaxy where the two brides would have trouble getting a wedding. It was fair to assume that was even why they were there in the first place. 

Canto Bight was a safe haven for those minorities that fell along what the majority may consider ‘amoral’. A glaring difference from its opposing atrocities as contrasting as the casino’s approved attire. In a sense, he supposed the loudmouthed laserbrain was right. Canto Bight was a place where people like him were safe to pursue a chance at a normal life; happiness, marriage, and even having a family. 

At least for those who could afford it. 

 

The faux city that rose from the desert planet was like an oasis for the rich and fabulous. Glamorous to the point of gaudy, the casino and its surrounding hotels and summer homes were always lit up like the stars themselves. Twinkling and glittering against the black skyline. Brilliant and bold, like a spotlight in the darkness for those considering rolling the dice for a chance at freedom. For a moment, the weight of the galaxy lifted off of his shoulders. The smiling faces of the wedded women and the their maids, clad in white lacy dresses and with flowers tucked behind their gray, triangular ears, made his heart swell as he pushed his way through what remained of the crowd. Perhaps there was hope for the galaxy, after all. Even if it was still very small.

 

“Another round.“

He was a beacon in that sea of black and white. A delicate ebony lace cocktail dress lined with an unusually chocolate shade of cherry underlay, draping ivory thighs. Legs that extended into oblivion, graceful and thin, and easily the longest the young pilot could ever recall. Each capped off in a stunning set of crystal encrusted stilettos. 

The tall stranger, whose Outer Rim accent caught Poe by surprise, sat at the center bar. A single sparkling shoe dangling stultified from the end of his foot, legs crossed one over the other, and nursing the last few sips of a colorful cocktail. Velvet throated, that same cadence thanked the barkeep who dropped off a second round, asking him politely to put it on the company tab.

Soft tresses burning like a space explosion, bright orange and full of fire, captivated him. It was nearly perfectly styled back save for a few strands the luxurious figure had let fall forward to one side. Framing his face to lead the eye to forests of cool stone green ringed by flames of their own that flicked and fluttered with every causal blink of purposefully forgotten mascara. A flattering shade of deep red to match his dress and compliment the male’s fair complexion, and a dusting of freckles that became more apparent as those pedals thinned into a soft smirk that caught coffee pools off guard. He’d noticed him staring. Of course he had. The man was dressed to stand out. He knew all eyes were on him that night like the wine stain on that alien woman’s white dress.

 

And he lived for the attention.

 

Another small unnoticed earthquake rattled and smashed an empty cluster of glasses. Behemoths being unleashed from their stables for the nights third race. All customers, excluding ticket holders and the pilot, who nearly shed his skin, ignoring the massive beasts while the gambling festivities continued, drinks flowed, and scum crawled up from the sewers. Said scum planting an unwanted hand on speckled flesh, sending the radiant male into a sudden mood change.

"Such a beauty shouldn't be left alone in a place like this."

Suddenly dazed green eyes slowly slid until stopping at the sight of some hybrid humanoid. A tall, lanky, greenish man with poor posture and who obviously didn't get the hint that the statuesque redhead wasn’t interested. After all, it hadn’t been the less than charming amphibian’s only try. First it was "beautiful night, but not as beautiful as you", followed by "I'll put those drinks on my tab if you give me a kiss", and finally "you should ride my speeder". 

“Why don’t you come with me, Princess? I’ll show you the town.”

"Piss off."

The ginger slammed the second drink back. Turning his seat to face the slimy creature. It's face was more twisted than before. Now it was obviously angry, showing its flared nostrils and narrowed eyes. Toothless mouth searching for a halfway intelligent comeback, but quickly cut short.

"Try someone in your league. I believe I stepped in something suitable earlier."

A long stiletto was lifted to point at the male before he abandoned his attempt. Storming off into crowd, shoving the now snickering pilot with what could only have been his shoulder. The feminine victor of the exchange replacing his leg across the other with a confident smirk. 

"They never quit..."

The prideful beauty turned back to his empty drink. Painted lips pressing against the sugar coated rim to absorb its sweetness. The gentle pressure building on his bottom lip as he began mindlessly tapping the container. His rhythmic pattern halting as some new shining knight sat down beside him, his suit even tackier than the last. The redhead pulling the glass away from his mouth to ready a shot at the new stud’s ego.

“Nice shoes.” Poe spoke before he could and a cocked jaw turned to greet the new patron, green eyes set as though waiting for an obvious continuation.

“...and?”

“Nothing. They’re just nice.” 

Emerald pools twitched in shock at the dark male’s unexpected compliment, or more so, lack of follow up. A brow cocking as a tawny hand waved over the bartender. The newcomer asking for the expert’s strongest drink and the oblong alien snorting before turning to grab a bottle off the top shelf. Pouring the oddly hued liquor over ice and sliding it across to him. It was dark, almost brown, but with an ominous tint of green that lingered around where the ice touched the glass, and smelled faintly of firewood and moss. One sip yield that it had enough octane to fuel his X-Wing, but Poe managed to keep it down.

“Military man?” The brogue voice asked. Poe still fascinated by its lyrical tone.

“Pilot.”

“Hmph. I can tell.”

A dangerous smile returned to those matte red lips. The glint of the still swinging chandelier flickering in malachite orbs as they watched the flyboy over a sugared rim. A pink tongue slowly sliding over the sweetly flavored granules. There was a venom in his voice as he spoke. It was sarcastic, but laced with a playful insanity that made Poe’s heart race. The kind of rise you’d get off of tossing chance cubes, or outflying an enemy ship. And potentially, just as deadly.

“Armitage.”

 

The funicular fashion in which the devine visitant spoke his name somehow sounded smooth and polished on the Arkanisian’s tongue. A mastery of the accent that Poe butchered upon trying to repeat it, gaining him a momentary cross look that faded into rolled eyes. A rare peak of shame climbing the back of Poe’s throat, choking him before he could exchange names. Brown eyes breaking away from the beautiful vision to stare at his libation before pouring more of it down his throat.

“Do I get to know your name, Pilot?”

There was a renewed softness in those stony eyes as the ginger tilted his head in question. Poe returning his gaze to see a small smile in the corner of garnet lips. A faint tenderness that had long been absent from his life that, for a moment, put him off guard. Tongue stumbling over his own teeth to find the means to speak.

“Oh, it’s - I’m Dameron. Commander Poe.” well worn fingers flattered the glass, grasping it firmly in both hands as he scooted himself closer into the bar with a sigh, “I mean ‘Commander Poe Dameron’. I’m a Commander. My name is Poe.”

“Poe Dameron?” He gave a sinful laugh, “And what brings you to Canto Bight, Commander?”

A sudden intrigue filled jade hues, an ivory chin coming to rest on the back of the elegant figure’s wrist. Fair fingers still grasping the empty glass by its rim. Ice cracking and clicking as it returned to its liquid state. Armitage had heard the surname before, or rather read it in a file of possible targets. ‘Dameron’ listed as the husband of a particularly high ranking threat that had captured his interest back on Jakku. A woman - Pilot. Fair skinned and lovely from what he could tell of her picture, with dark curls and a unique scar over her brow that belie a track record pocked with achievement and praise, and the listening of a sole son whom made his younger being fret upon reaching the back of the file. A single page stamped ‘deceased’. 

“Mandatory leave.” Poe said flatly, tilting his now half empty drink to admire its odd color. Armitage snapping from his thoughts to return his attention to the man in front of him.

“Trouble in paradise?” The sultry ginger asked with a smirk, a slender leg brushing the side of Poe’s stool as Armitage craned his neck. Soft white skin catching the pilot’s eye.

“My superiors think I ask too many questions.” His eyes never left the supple skin, “The New Republic doesn’t like it when you talk back, so they put my whole squadron on leave.”

Poe wasn’t sure if Armitage was impressed, or just disinterested, but he let out a jagged laugh. Setting his empty glass aside as a droid came to retrieve it before turning back to his company. A less amused glaze to his eyes that faded them to an almost icy hue. Impeccable posture relaxing against the back of his chair with a listless ‘imagine that’.

“The vacation must be pleasant, at least?” He finally continued before turning his head to watch the bustling crowd that swamped the casino.

Dameron simply letting slip a laugh, “My Squadron’s more excited about it than me.”

A reply that must have tickled his fellow patron whose smile seemed to indicate that he’d found it amusing. An observation that seemed to be confirmed when the slender male leaned his body towards Poe instead. That same tilt of the head drawing the Commander’s eyes once again, causing his palms to sweat against the glass.

“You seem eager to get back, Dameron. Why so quick to leave the city?”

“I-“ he choked in an attempt to laugh off his own nerves, one sweaty palm reaching back to tame a loose curl, “I-I’m not.”

 

To say that the redhead was prideful of shaking the moon dweller would have been an egregious understatement. The shift in his demeanor raising the hairs on the back of the Defense Fleet Commander’s neck. A sensation that was more welcome than Poe cared to admit as fine fingers traced the shoulder seam of his jacket. A slim body turning towards him and slender leg grazing the grain of black slacks before gracefully slipping from the stool. A single manicured talon cutting a line from one side of broad shoulders to the next before an unnoticed hand could slip away what was left of the pilot’s drink. The turn of his waist only accentuating the ravishingly gorgeous male’s thin frame and, surprisingly, round behind.

“Well, it’s been lovely talking to you,” the rest of the room felt silent. In that sole moment, the crowd had washed away and all that remained was delicate moss glancing back his way, set like gems in an ivory face. Jewels that glimmered and entranced. Leaving their viewer paralyzed in the wake of their command before turning to saunter off.

“Good evening, Pilot.”


	2. Stays In Canto Bight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is an army without soldiers?  
> A determined young oprative aims to seduce a New Republic asset straight out from under them.  
> Little does he know that all is fair in war...and love.

Titian follicles seemed to glow even brighter in the mid morning sun as the gentle sea breeze tousled loose tresses from their desired location. An ivory hand, fair and delicate, raising to tuck the strands of red pigment behind a pale ear before their owner leaned his body over the plaster balcony. The view was the largest body of water the planet had to offer, a stretch of aquamarine as far as the eye could see, it’s glittering surface reflecting back into equivalently blue-green pools. A hue not unique to Cantonica’s famous beaches, but certainly one he’d come to appreciate in the past few weeks. After all, its color was a rare sight to behold where the oat sewing Arkanisian had once called home - At least when not cast in shadows and gray - and was even more of a rarity in the vast wastelands of his more recent stomping ground. It had certainly become something he’d learned to admire in the vast variety of climates and environmental differences the Galaxy had shown him, even if the sun was less than friendly when it came to his preadaptation to Arkanis’ particular weather patterns, or the artificial light and chill of deep space travel, but it beat the heat of the average sweltering desert planet.

Anywhere was better than Jakku. The ocean was a welcome change.

 

Armitage had seen many worlds across the Galaxy with those same eyes, ever shifting, changing color with the context of his situation, or how he chose to dress. Today’s attire, for instance, was wine in color. Which brought out an undertone of blue hues that reflected in his eyes with flecks of navy and teal that rippled from the center like the the chiffon skirting of his dress. Loosely fitted at cream thighs that lead down to ankles crossed one over the other in relaxed stance, the open toe of a single champagne stiletto mimicking the beat of whatever ambiance the casino had playing mindlessly in the background. The top of his dress was fitted, with open back that laced like a corset over bare flesh. Leaving a delightful view of the trail of freckles that lead to his tailbone and had become more apparent with the weeks he’d spent recently in sunlight. Even his normally pallor complexion had soaked in a rosier tone from his time on the casino planet’s white sand beaches, and basking by pools on sea to sky cruise ships that toured the surrounding area.

It had been refreshing. Almost delightfully so, considering the torment of his last stationed post and the rigorous training details he’d learned by endurance there, but it was hardly a sabbatical. There was work to be done, charming beings with well lined pockets into financing his soon to be legacy, and coaxing new recruits into pledging their loyalty to his Order. An assignment his Sargent saw him fit for a few times in the past and one that he excelled at, thanks in part to his silver tongue and what Rax repugnantly referred to as his ‘assets’. Fine, soft red hair and delicate body. High cheeks that took well to a dusting of blush. Soft shoulders that slipped seductively into a sultry collarbone of fair, smooth skin dotted with fields of concentrated melanin speckles in intriguing places, and gentle eyes that spoke more to his mood than any expression. Natural features that were considerably rare, even by way of his species, that men and women alike seemingly sought out; perhaps even fetishized. A weapon he solely held in the name of the First Order, and one far more effective than any moon-sized canon some supposed “Empire” had ever botched. Twice.

A clean smirk flattened stained lips. A prideful smugness that ran the length of his entire body every time he dared to think of the failures of those who came before him. Laughable and pathetic collapse that could have easily been avoided. A point of view that his own father, Brendol Hux, and his imperial supporters still foolishly refused to assess. At best, the reign of the Empire could be described as a debacle - at worst, a catastrophe. Yet, still, scum slumped up from the cracks in the stone to see it rise to power once again. A pipe dream of many of Armitage’s higher ranks that he’d conspired to see crushed since childhood. Late nights, sullied with tears and bloodied lips in which he conceived aspersions of his own, and that would bury the Empire and all who favor it in the past - where they belong.

His smirk had faded to a light smile. Strawberry lashes feathering radiant cheeks before parting to reveal benign and veresent orbs that fell on the golden glow of sand below. It arced into a pleasantly calm cove that had been cut out of the cliff for better atmosphere. Pretty, but obviously man-made, it encompassed a thunderous waterfall that fed into the shallows below, duly acting as scenery and a launching point for tour ships and recreational sea speeders. The tour ships were lumbering beasts that smoothly transitioned from river to air. Cumbersome and boxish compared to the smaller crafts that streaked past them to frolic in their wakes. The speeders, small and streamline, shot from the cascade out into the sky like blaster bolts, only to return to skim the water casually upon tiring of the initial thrill, or their pilot realizing there was no longer something supporting the craft from beneath and choking before gaining too much distance from the safety of the river. In fairness, a safe assessment as the speeders tended to cop out after too much flying. They were, after all, designed more to hover than take to the skies.

These crafts were, unsurprisingly, a common choice for the New Republic Pilots that vacationed there. Which seemed to be the case that morning as well. A squad of well bodied men barely systematically maintaining turns with the rented machines as they shoved and butted one another for their ‘go’ at flying from the edge of the faux cataract. Finally, agreeing to flip an old, tarnished Wupiupi the eldest wingman kept in his pocket for luck to decide their order. Said luck being questionable, as the coin, naturally, decided its owner’s fate to be dead last. A low chuckle falling from cashmere lips, verdant orbs watching as the distant figure mouthed a curse before cantankerously handing over the key to a familiar face. The same shabby pilot from the night before, who hopped in the vehicle without a second thought and began to race across the water’s surface. The exact sort of impertinence Hux expected from the New Republic’s infamous flyboys.

Armitage remembered a particular point where Rae Sloane had gone as far as to refer to this particular breed of rebel scum as ‘wolfish’, a word she normally reserved as an insult against his Sargent in more private settings. One that wasn’t entirely incorrect, upon inspection of Rax’s nature beyond the service. A trait he had quickly discovered was inequitably common among the remaining Imperialists whom he’d been forced to grow up around. A prevalence that disgusted him even more than the idea of the Empire ruling once more and that no rebel pilot he’d met, not without trying, had surpassed.  
Yet. 

While Armitage was sure a lot of why had to do with their surroundings, he had come to find a great many of the New Republic branch’s officers were generally less than well-mannered. Etiquette was a foreign concept to the entire lot of them, it seemed. It was rare to even find one with some semblance of what personal space was, let alone one that could recognize it. All were abhorrent, most were perverse, and some even bordered on lecherous - hosting rapacious hands that pawed at the hem of his skirt, and lascivious thoughts that snaked from voracious lips on the end of amatory tongues. Even the more composed Commander from the bar was quick to note the young Hux’s coquettishness. A state he had noted leaving the military man chewing his own tongue and fighting to keep grip on his glass with sweating palms. It was almost endearing, considering the alternative. ‘Poe’, as he called himself, had almost seemed sincere. Save for the pungent musk that wafted from his neck as Armitage drew his body ever closer to him that night. He had to wonder if the pilot had really thought he wouldn’t notice? Nothing stayed under Armitage’s radar for long. Not even when obscured by vague innocence. He was well aware the navy man wanted to sleep with him already, and though not unusual behavior for a soldier visiting Canto Bight, it was the pilots greatest weakness. The key to disrupting any chance the bronze buffoon had to resist. After all, the quickest way to a flyboy’s heart is just below his belt buckle.

“At least he’s cute.”

The words slipped from his mouth with a little more enthusiasm than he expected, but even Armitage had to admit that the Commander’s pheromones had done their job. The intoxicating mix of chemicals that oozed from his tawny skin had infiltrated his senses that night with what they caused naturally - A bodily response in the form of the desire to mate. As a man who preferred to believe he had a better control of his more sordid desires, this admission came with a sting of shame that knotted his gut more than the growing arousal that seemed to have become a recurring symptom of being in the pilot’s vicinity. Ivory digits glommed synthetic stone, the ginger’s attention fixated on the source if his pelvic discomfort as Dameron dared to push the small, and now quivering craft to what appeared to be its absolute limitations. What was the fool doing? Sea speeders weren’t made to fly long distances and the engines were clearly cutting out. Either he was insane, or…

Feral eyes scanned the craft’s surroundings, searching the ocean for some answer to the ensuing chaos. Armitage’s heart throbbing in this throat as verdigris finally fell over the bobbing head of a struggling child fighting the growing waves as a riptide dragged her from the shoreline. The muscles in thin legs coiling to leap the barrier before rationality stopped him in his tracks, the loud sputter of a dying engine core finally marking the speeder’s descent towards the sea below. Hux held his breath, the tiny vehicle falling into a nosedive. Its sole passenger pressing his body as close to the craft as possible before it hit the water with a sound that closer resembled someone striking a plate of metal than a splash. Hux’s face grew more pale than usual. A crowd of onlookers growing quite as both the girl and the pilot had yet to surface. Frail arms shook when a soaked palm of curls finally broke the waves, floundering arms desperately assisting the frightened girl atop the now capsized speeder before groping for a handle on the totaled vehicle himself. Unheard words working to calm coughing and crying despite what must have been substantial pain resulting from the fall. A suspicion confirmed when the rescuers that rushed the secured duo to shore had to help the pilot up the beach. 

The fact that the courageous idiot was standing at all was completely remarkable. A testament to his skill, or possibly just proof his skull was thicker than it should be. Whatever the case may be, such an impressive control over a ship not designed for colliding at full speed with the ocean was worth further consideration. Talent like that, if not just a culmination of asininity and dumb luck, was wasted on an X-wing Squadron. Such a proficient pilot should be trained in a more exemplary army. For a cause with substance. A just goal. 

Order.

 

“You certainly know how to make an impression, pilot.” Armitage taunted, making his way down to where Poe had stopped to sit, “You look like you could use a drink.”

The suggestion was punctuated with the tap of a heel, the sharp sound right beside Poe catching him a bit off guard. Rough hands that had previously been wringing out his waterlogged tank top flinging up to sweep back dripping curls. A low grunt escaping when he stumbled to his feet. A surge of pain sweeping his core, aching agonizingly as he attempted to catch his breath. Armitage having to stifle a laugh at the gruesome expression that twisted on the pilot’s face.

“Do I have to move?” Poe questioned jokingly, gripping his abdomen.

“My treat?” Armitage implored, a delicate fingertip sliding a loose curl from the doused fighter’s forehead. A smile crossing a well cut jaw as it did so.

“It’s a date.”

The Arkanis heir wasn’t sure how it happened, but the casual offer to buy a drink quickly turned into flirtatious conversation and dinner at seven. A loss of grip that made him grit his teeth, but not one he was too overly concerned with. Drinks, dinner, it made no real difference. The final stage of the plan was the same. And this way, Dameron was sure to think he was actually interested. Not that the pilot’s charm wasn’t making that easy enough.

 

Parted lips pouted softly, a bionic arm reaching out to sweep a coating of matte plum. Vibrant jades watching the small droid work its magic in perfecting the evening’s look. Black crystals shimmering in the light, reflecting off the bot’s macro lense as it zoomed to focus on every small detail. A tight cocktail dress with a sweetheart neckline sparkling against white flesh, especially where it was bared at the sides and crossed straps drew an x between slight shoulder blades. A slim belt cinched his waste into a mocked curve that disguised his more linear shape. Slender legs denude from mid thigh to strapped ankle and sleek stiletto sandals in a glorious gold. This time, the droid chose to line the ginger’s eyes in a smoked onyx. Careful to keep the fierce pigment from staining fiery filaments that stuck out from the coal color like scorching embers. Celadon colors overpowering any blue hues as Hux examined his appearance with delight. Praising the droid for its hard work before stepping out for the evening in targeted path.

He was a man on a mission this evening. Weapons drawn and sights set on turning a Rebel son from his father’s, or in this case, mother’s legacy. Pride swelled at the idea. The assassination of the New Republic in the eyes of such a decorated officer’s boy brought him more joy than he cared to admit and shoulders were set high with confidence in his ability to do just that. With the proper execution of woo and manipulation, it could even be called a simple task. Before dawn, the Naval Commander would be smitten with him, if he couldn’t be classified as that already.

After all, there was one offer no flyboy could resist and it happened to be Armitage’s specialty.

 

“Evening, Pilot.” Broke lyrical cadence, delicate hands placing themselves on broad shoulders as the voice’s source leaned in for a whisper, “Miss me?”

“Absolutely.” 

A cheerful smile broke over a freshly shaven cheek, the shadow of dimples now painfully clear as he turned to look at his date. A look that visibly shook the painted ginger for only a second before taking his seat across from Poe. Armitage hadn’t noticed the genetic creasing before. It seemed to have been hidden under the roughage of stubble that had been there prior. A dangerous stir cut at his chest with each thundering beat of a racing pulse. He couldn’t yet tell if this feeling was excitement, or his senses warning him that trouble was coming, but the Arkanisian seemed to be leaning towards the latter as a flash of similar facial structures filled his mind with memories of freezing, tormented nights in the Jakku desert. The desire to break for the door only broken by the sound of his dinner plate being set down in front of him.

“You have dimples.” Armitage finally spoke, mustering a plastic smile as he prodded his fork into a helpless vegetable.

“I got them from my father,” Poe replied, trying not to speak with his mouth full of food, “but his are more noticeable.”

“My father had them as well.” The Arkanisian’s brow twitched upon realizing what he’d said, pulling his napkin up to dab the corner of his lip before correcting himself. “Well, not my father - but, the man who cared for me when I was a child.”

Curious coffee pools watched as brilliant jade surrendered to icy blue, an equally cold expression forming on the redhead’s face. The air about him had changed entirely. Body slumped, compressed as tightly as it could be. Head lowered to avoid eye contact and hands clutching whatever was in grasp. A look of concern had broken out over Poe’s previously joyful gaze. A fear of having said or done something wrong brimming to panic in the back of his mind. A less than cautious hand darting across the table to rest over pale flesh. The sudden heat of his touch snapping Armitage from his trauma. The startled ginger ripping his fist from under a tan palm before calming himself for a quick recovery and placing his hand lightly over the worried pilot’s.

“You look a bit like him.” He stated, running his thumb over a rugged knuckle before surprisingly gentle fingers dared to coil with his own, a thumping heart beating at his rib cage uncomfortably.

It wasn’t a familiar thing for the young Hux to have someone so conscious of his feelings. It wasn’t even familiar for anyone to assume he still had feelings at all. Most of his superiors simply assumed, or at least acted so, that he was devoid of such useless things - like a good soldier should be. Yet, here he was. Lost in a swirl of unnecessary memories that, had he not known better, he could have swore the pilot had also seen. A flyboy. An uncouth, degenerate New Republic fighter was seemingly showing him empathy. Armitage didn’t know whether to be horrified or disgusted by this sort of appalling infringement on his normalcy. Yet, neither described the feeling. The unconscious release of tension that straightened his body as a soft smile returned to Dameron’s face when he playfully quipped about being unsure his being compared to whom only Hux knew was Rax was a compliment. 

There was something disarming about the man despite Armitage being fully aware that he could be quite formidable if he chose to be. His ability to take charge without having to be given a direct command hadn’t gone unnoticed. Nor had his willingness to risk his own life for the life of an ailing child. An act that had struck Hux deeper than he’d previously noted. There was a kindness that radiated from him. A warmth like none the officer had felt before. It felt comfortable. Dare he say it, safe. An admission that brought what felt almost like guilt at the idea of seducing him, but not enough to stop the loyal operative from completing his goal. Not by a long shot. After all, flirtation was not a hard sell on the Commander. It was like waving a steak in front of a Nexu - It didn’t take long to get a bite. His nerves had seemed to simmer down from the night before and he was now in full swing, skillfully delighting his fem fatale with romantic conversation. Armitage was amused, he had to admit. The cocky pilot was almost shameless in his endeavors to dazzle him and before long their laced fingers had progressed to leaning over the table just to be closer to the other. Finished plates having been set aside for hungry hands to graze at any exposed skin they could reach. Soft pale digits teasing the hairs of Poe’s wrist as he spoke of his homeworld and the colony he grew up in, told tales of climbing in the Force sensitive tree he had in his yard, or attempting to pilot ships he’d built from scrap. Even a story of how his mother took him into the atmosphere to watch the sun rise over Yavin from space. All while himself pawing at the soft skin of Armitage’s arm as both patrons impatiently waited for the cheque.

 

The duo had made their way out into the night by the time Armitage had removed his heels. Letting the stylish pair dangle carelessly from delicate fingers as he strolled along smooth stone roads barefoot. His date falling along side having stripped from his jacket to drape it over his lovely Ginger’s shoulders. Curious it seemed as to where the taller male was leading them after so abruptly exiting the restaurant. Blissfully unaware of what the radiant Arkanisian had planned for him.

The night was calm. Nary a breeze brushed bare skin and most of the planet’s guests had taken to their hotels, or busied themselves on indoor activities. Only a few well soused strangers, clearly enjoying their stay, stumbled the opposite direction down their path as the air around them cooled comfortably. Pallid fingers closing the rented coat around an exposed collar bone. It was infused with that same musk from the evening prior. A warm scent that reminded Armitage of one of the few sunny days he’d witnessed before being forced from his home on Arkanis. The smell of evaporating moisture as the usual rain dried from tree bark, and moss began to parch. Dark soil and black stone that radiated heat back as the sun beat down upon it. It was a rugged oder, with a spice that stung his nose enough to prick up his skin into goosebumps as copper lashes closed slowly in pleasure. Lifting the ebony fabric to his nose in wonderment. His mind buzzing in heated anticipation as he made his way towards his desired location.

 

“Pretty.” The pilot commented, his half dazed company turning to look back at him and nod.

It was a beautiful sight. A stone balcony that stuck out from three archways and overlooked the humming lights of the city below. An orange glow that burned from blue and went on until it reached a black sea that broke with gray waves. Stacks of steam and smoke stretched towards the sky, spouting from late night cafes and restaurants before disappearing into a web of stars that were somehow more noticeable than they were from the street. The occasional sprout of palms shooting from between buildings, or amidst decorative features that stood stagnant as silhouettes. The view was that of a painting that one would find in a high priced art gallery. Brushed to canvas with precision and mastery to entice the senses and move its audience. Simple, timeless, classic.  
Absolutely romantic.

Vermillion tresses rested silently on Poe’s shoulder. The awed male breaking his gaze to look instead at the beauty beside him. Fluorescent lashes closed gently over soft cheeks as his date leaned on him. A sweet smile barely visible on purple lips. A sight that caused the flyboy’s heart to race as mossy colors appeared to watch him back. Armitage raising his head slowly as Poe turned to steal a kiss. Rough fingertips tracing the edge of a pale jaw as both men leaned deeper into the embrace. Heated ivory skin leaning back against cold stone, a sudden hiss breaking their kiss before the flustered fighter could pant out a laugh. An aggravated glare burning from beneath flushed skin. A snarl being given for the lack of red staining his rendezvous darker complexion before smirking lips could reconnect with sweet plums. A contorted mouth giving way for tongues to dance between hot breaths. 

Playful hands sloped the curve of Hux’s back, finding a place to rest at wide hips. Moving suddenly only to lift the his lanky lover onto the balcony facade. A startled yelp slipping out before Armitage managed to lock his legs around Poe’s waist. The hem of his skirt creeping up cream thighs as he pulled the pilot in closer. He’d not expected the smaller male to be capable of lifting him with such ease. Though, he supposed, the Navy man was hardly unfit to do so. The structure of his body was cut with muscle, despite his more diminutive stature. A wide frame and muscular arms, defined abdomen that Armitage could feel under the untailored shirt he’d procured for his time on Cantonica. Every inch seemingly cut from marble for curious hands to examine. Thin arms draped over broad shoulders as the slender fingers of one hand hooked in dark ringlets, tugging softly at chocolate curls. The opposite continuing to assess the Commander’s shoulders and back. Fighting to swallow a whine as corse hands made their way up already shaking legs at a painfully slow pace.

Armitage could practically feel the pilot’s groin throbbing. He knew he wanted him, yet Poe kept his pace slow. Teasing and tormenting each and every field of bare skin his fingers could find. An act that nearly made the lusting Hux want to push him down, but he suppressed the urge. The last thing he wanted was to scare him off by being too aggressive. All his careful planning would have been for not if he were too quick to push the flyboy. Of course, this rose the concern of why he’d become so impatient at all? Why he was so desperate under the Commander’s touch? However, those worries were quickly silenced by the feeling of warm hands slipping under his skirt to paw at the frail pair of lace panties he’d chosen to wear. A mostly transparent number with a floral pattern and filigree he’d hand picked especially for Poe’s enjoyment. Tight thighs closing just enough to allow the garment to be slipped off with ease. Hands propping themselves at his sides, fully ready to drop from his seat and lean over the railing, only to be halted when the philanthropic flyboy dropped to his knees. Wide hands grasping soft inner thighs as the Arkanisian’s abdomen tensed.

Olive eyes rolled back, the sensation of moisture and heat sending a shudder through his body. Lithe legs weakly pushing in on firm palms that held them at bay while a wet tongue slicked it’s way up his length. A gentle kiss moving seamlessly into parted lips that grazed pulsing flesh. His heart throbbed almost painfully in his head. An unfamiliar stir knotting his gut as the tawny male decided to treat him. A skillful tongue gliding downward. Each pass growing smoother as Hux’s member slipped deeper into his pilot’s eager mouth. His posture arching as Poe began to gently suck. A gasp breaking from smudged lips, talons gripping at a coil clad scalp as unannounced fingers fondled what the Republic fighter couldn’t swallow. A light pressure applied at the base that begged the sylphid male to cum.

“Ahh. Pilot…!”

 

Every muscle in his thin frame tightened as he released. Sturdy arms holding the quivering figure from slipping off his perch. How could he have come so quickly? He was almost ashamed. After all, it was he who was to be seducing the pilot. Buzzed arms flung themselves around the moon dweller’s neck to pull him into a kiss before he’d had the chance to swallow. A bittersweet mix of tastes invading his mouth with a ravenous tongue. As he edged his hips forward, faded jade locking with brown. Armitage breaking the kiss to slick his own fingers. A sly hand coating his entrance in the seminal mixture as Poe fumbled to unfasten his trousers. He could sense his partner’s unwillingness to wait any longer. The hungry look in those verdant pools enough to steal his very breath as tapered fingers slipping over Poe’s member. Cradling the hot mass to position him at his entrance. The two first fingers on his hand being used to guide the thick length into place.

The pilot’s size was impressive, and not at all what his height had prepared Hux for. There was a noticeable wince as Poe pushed inside, and Armitage had to bite down on the shoulder of the Commander’s wrinkled dress shirt to stifle a scream. Emerald eyes shutting tightly as tears gathered in their corners. Raising his legs as best as he could as the pressure began to give way to pleasure. Firm hands moving to assist weak thighs in staying up. The harsh breaths and moans of his lover for the evening beckoning him to press his body closer. To connect every possible part of them. Fine fingers ripping at white cotton cloth that barricaded from gold flesh, frustratingly halting his touch. A hungry mouth mauling at the tender point between his neck and collarbone as their rhythms came into sync. A ruined mop of orange hair flinging back with an unrestrained moan upon Poe hitting his prostate. A steady rhythm repeating the indulgent thrill as long legs locked over the flyboy to keep him in place. The repetitive sensation drawing him ever closer to climax.

“Kriffing cum.”

There was an urgency in that breathless command. Dominating and insistent. A desperation that shot like fire through the pilot’s core. Entrancing him to abide in his lover’s orders. A cry ripping from Armitage’s throat as his body twisted and turned under the sensation filling him. Hot pearls beading onto his stomach as it twitched and seized below the fighter’s weight. Finally ceasing as Hux’s body relaxed. Poe helping the limp Arkanisian lift his head so he could kiss him. Both fighting to catch their breath as their bodies cooled and unwound against the white stone. Arms coiled inseparably and on the verge of collapse, their foreheads pressed to the other’s in tender embrace. 

It wasn’t like anything Armitage could ever recall feeling. There was no chance the pilot would let him go, but he didn’t feel restrained. He didn’t feel smothered, or obligated. He was protected. Safe. A quality the young Hux had never felt before. Not through sex, or with any man he’d had hold him. Not even as a child had he ever been made to feel so comfortable. It was a feeling that something deep inside of him yearned for again and again. One he wanted to keep with him always. Even if he knew that could never be. This was not protocol. His feelings, these sordid desires that had suddenly become such a plague unto him. The First Order, like the Empire before it strictly forbid sexual behavior outside of the act of reproduction. Intercorse was a tool, not a game. There was no necessity for pleasure. It was only a distraction from his ultimate goal. However, he did want to feel it. If only ust for a little while. To see what it was like. Understand why it had always been such an effective weapon in manipulating one's enemy. He’d enjoy this passion for the little Rebel pilot for the time being.

Even if it had to stay in Canto Bight.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave feedback.


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